


Quisling Thing

by Scythling



Series: All We Know of Heaven, All we Need of Hell [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Everyone is either Railroad or Atom Cats, Existential Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Faction Angst, Hancock and Mac accidentally join the Railroad, Mutual Pining, Slowest Burn I can handle, Stealth Egg finds love, Undercover lovers, What do you mean Atom Cats aren't an End Game Faction?, some implied Nick/Ellie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 15:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13954098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scythling/pseuds/Scythling
Summary: Ash knows all the main players in the Commonwealth, but the Railroad is where she fits best. On a mission to infiltrate their enemies and storm the Institute, why is the one person she trusts to cover her six the guy she paid to be there?MacCready's just hoping to square off his debts and keep Ash out of trouble, but the more Fixer begins to live up to her name, he's starting to think there's no problem she can't handle, his included.Deacon knows wherever Ash goes things get interesting, so when she uncovers a secret vault under their Spectacle Island safehouse, he almost forgets to act surprised.





	1. Opening Gambit

From Mac’s quiet corner of the wrecked courtyard, he could just about hear Ash leading Preston and the other Minutemen through the Castle’s interior.

‘We’ll set up trade stalls in the smaller sections, bunks in the big end rooms, and more shacks in the courtyard if need be....’ Hers was a firm yet feminine voice that demanded you sit up and pay attention, because she wouldn’t say it twice.

‘We’ll need patrols along the top walls, after the gaps have been patched. That’s priority number one.’

That was definitely her business voice, and it almost always got results. Talked 50 caps off his fee, he recalled, but he wasn’t even embarrassed when he knew what lesser men had agreed to under her spell.  Mac figured Ash was the kind of woman men wanted bossing them about. Especially Preston, if the constant stream of “Yes Ma’am’s” was anything to go by.

In the post-battle comedown, Mac leant back on the stone steps, cap in his lap. Fatigue setting in fast, even the action of shaking seaweed off his boots proved too much effort. He’d taken a few hits and bumps, and narrowly avoided acid burns from the Mirelurk Queen – currently being carved up for dinner. Ash, of course, had taken the worst of it, but after a few stims she was up and ordering the men about, like she hadn’t just done yet another ridiculous feat in her quest to help The Entire Commonwealth.

Mac felt sluggish, his eyes lowering gradually as Ash’s voice echoing off the stone walls lulled him into a doze. He wasn’t sure how long he’d had before she crept up on him.

‘Not the best place to catch some zees.’

Mac started awake, letting out a snort as Ash nudged his shoulder with her boot on her way down the steps. There were worse things to get caught doing than napping on the job, he supposed.

_Mind out of the gutter, MacCready…_

Rubbing at his eyes gave him the perfect opportunity to hide a creeping blush, and to run an injury check.

Ash had scraped her messy brown hair into a high ponytail that showed off the nasty case of facial bruises blooming across her cheeks. A mirelurk backhand will do that to you. She was also sporting a split lip. Plump as they were naturally, it was still noticeably swollen when she gave him a proud smile. At least her straight pearly whites were all accounted for, thank god. He wouldn’t wish his teeth on anyone.

‘We did it. The chain’s complete. The one settlement to rule them all, the one ring to find them.’

After so many months travelling together, he guessed that was some kind of pre-war book or film reference. Most nights she'd gripe about missing a good movie. Either way, she was right. Minuteman HQ had been the very last piece on the board for her revival project.

‘Must be very proud, _General_.’

He may not think much of the Minutemen himself, but the tease was light, and it brought a youthful shine to her eyes - green, like the bottles of top-shelf at the Third Rail. Top-shelf. That was Ash all over.

‘You’re damn right I’m proud. I’ve lost count of how many settlements we’ve got now.’ She sighed her relief at closing out a months-long project of endless toiling, fixing, and travelling.

‘I’m sure Puppy-love Garvey could tell you how many.’

At that, she had her hands on hips, eyebrow quirked at his sass.

‘Don’t be rude, Hot-shot. The man’s a saint.’

 _With the patience of one_ , Mac bit his tongue on that. The Minuteman was always trailing after her, eager to start conversations on their shared passion (settlements) and everyone but Preston could see how deliberately oblivious Ash was in return. Professionalism, she’d called it.

He may be bored by anything not guaranteeing caps, but like any sharp-eyed survivalist, Mac noticed all the small things. Things like Ash carefully shifting weight off her injured ankle - the one she should be resting.

‘You,’ he tugged at the pocket of her leather jacket, ‘should be off that foot.’

She huffed a laugh at him, and Mac couldn’t help but smile every time he heard it. It was medicine to hear her happy and relaxed, and not the anxious mess she’d been in those freshly defrosted, first few months.

‘Paging Doctor MacCready, we’re _all_ in need of a rest.’  

Just as he was about to agree, an ear splitting shrill cut through the courtyard that had him scrambling to his feet.

‘What the f-frick is that?!’

Static fizzed and popped from speakers high on the walls. 

_‘Radio Freedom up and running, General.’_

‘That’s great, boys.’

Ash gave the two men in the radio shack a thumbs up for each of them, as some kind of string instrument began to play over the speakers. ‘That’s our cue to head inside.’

‘Ugh, is that gonna be playing the whole time?’ Mac whined in spite of the dig it would earn him, and pulled his cap right down as if it could drown out the sound.

‘Looks like. Now stop being such a whiney kid and let’s get some accommodation sorted.’

She fixed him a determined stare, weariness just beginning to creep in around strained eyes. At least this had been the last settlement on their to-do list. No more building wells or whatever; he’d make sure she left the rest to her loyal Minutemen. Although, knowing Ash, she’d start some new community project within a day.

The woman never stopped taking damn detours to help people, even at the expense of finding her son. Hell, she’d even gone with him to take out the trash at Mass Pike Interchange just shy of a week ago.

That kind of generosity was rarer than the adhesives she was always junk-diving for.

 _Speaking of which_ ….  

‘Ya know, for that unfair comment, I’m not sure you even deserve this.’ MacCready dug around in his pockets before offering her a crumpled, but otherwise still-sealed, tube of cement glue he’d salvaged.

He watched her reaction, drinking in the way her eyes widened like he held a fistful of gold, or the post-bomb equivalent.

Mac ducked his head under the lip of his cap to hide his eyes. He may be able to blow a raider’s head off with a well-placed .308 any day of the week, but something about Ash being so openly pleased by his small gift made him shy and suddenly unsure of himself.

 _It’s a tube of glue, not a goddamn wedding ring_ , he told himself - _get a grip_.

She seemed to pick up on his skittishness, and the innocent delight quickly shifted into her classic teasing, easy smile. Ever since she’d discovered he was an easy blusher, she’d been relentless.

‘Why MacCready,’ the way she accentuated his name made his jaw twitch, ‘you sure know how to make a lady _very_ happy.’ With that, she snatched the glue from his hand, leaving him to try and regain his seemingly cool composure.

‘I aim to please.’

 

***

 

‘To killing crabs, and being King of the Castle.’

Ash clinked her bottle of Gwinnett against his in a clumsy toast, sending foam down his wrist. MacCready was too buzzed to grouch about it now.

Their dinner of salty mirelurk had easily sent them five bottles deep in no time at all.

‘You mean the Queen of the Castle, right? Or is there something you’re not telling me…’

They’d set up for the night in the middle room of the L-shaped castle complex, with the Minutemen split into groups in the rooms at either end.  Just the two of them huddled around a single oil lamp meant he had little else to focus on in the dark but the baffled expression on Ash’s face, her processing powers a little delayed by the drink.

‘I can be King if I want. Or take both titles. Might as well add to General if I can.’

Her reply was almost coy as she looked up at him over a sip of her drink. Alcohol encouraged a healthy flush in her cheeks, and it suited her. Mac couldn’t imagine she’d done much drinking from the bottle before the bombs, especially as a decorated Officer's wife, but it sat in her hand as naturally as Nick Valentine cradled his cigarettes.

‘Well alright, your Highness, but be warned.’ He leaned toward her over the lamp. ‘I’ve punched a Princess before and that was just to be Mayor.’

Ash snorted on her beer, and the laugh she gave was was long and loud, probably from imagining a shorter but no less grumpy version of him being in charge of a bunch of kids. She could never know about the stupid hat, though, considering how much she teased him for his current headgear. 

‘Ah that’s definitely enough of this I think…’ She waved her bottle at him whilst fanning at her face, still fighting off the giggles.

‘I am in respectable company after all, was it the Mayor of Little Nightlight? Lampsocket?’ 

Mac rolled his eyes, but enjoyed it all the same. No one else ever got to see her like this, and he knew it.

Mayor Hancock was possibly a close second, as he brought out the deviant in everyone, but Ash was reserved with most people, including Preston. With Valentine and Piper she relaxed a little more, but they only saw the grieving widow, and innocent vault-dweller, never seeing the messier sides or her proficiency with a bobby pin. They held Ash to a higher moral standard, with her being pre-war and all, and she seemed to want to preserve their opinion of her. As her most frequent and - at least he liked to think - brutally honest companion, he saw it all.

‘Mayor of Little _Lamplight_ , for four years running _,_ I’ll have you know _._ ’

Ash hummed thoughtfully.

‘No adults, you said. Something tells me you weren’t the one tucking them in and telling them to clean their rooms, Mr Mayor.’

Mac chuckled at that. Kids back in her day must have had it so good to have parents nag you out of love.

‘Nah, none of that in Little Lamplight.’ He looked up at her, and she inclined her head, eager to hear more about his past. Ordinarily it’d be about now that he’d shut his trap, but the drink had melted away what little of his aloofness remained.  Plus it felt good to think back on his first real home.

‘It was a dump sometimes, but we got by. Some kids got sick a lot on account of it being in a cave, and slavers liked to think we were easy targets.’ He patted the rifle at his feet. ‘We had a bit of help handling them from this older girl who wanted in, but mungos weren’t allowed - we called adults mungos – don’t laugh…’

She laughed.

‘Anyway, this mungo is a bit like you, actually. A vault dweller, too. She ended up helping a bunch of people, cleaned out the slavers from Paradise Falls, and set up fresh drinking water using vault technology. _’_

 _She’s also currently looking after my sick son._ He still couldn’t bring himself to say it. Knowing Ash as well as he did, she’d divert from her path yet again just to help him, and he already owed her so much. He had to break even.

‘Wow. The parent in me is freaking out over the fact you fought off slavers and rickets, just to live in a cave. Getting involved in all that so young…Sure explains how you shoot so well, I mean... you’re alright, I guess.’

Ash leant back on her hands, studying him, and Mac willed himself to think of a witty reply whilst basking in the compliment.

‘Don’t worry, I had to teach her how to shoot a rifle, too.’

He enjoyed watching the joke dawn on her and she turned her head away, fighting a smile.

‘Oh thank God, I was starting to think not even blowing up the Institute would top Miss Mungo. And for the record, it was only rifles I needed help with. Nate taught me to shoot a handgun the year I met him.’

Huh. Mac took a swig of beer to stall. She’d opened up a whole can of worms there mentioning the Institute, and her husband in the same breath. Rarely did she mention Nate, and Mac understood that very well, considering they were both members of the same sad little club, she just didn’t know it. But the Institute… As soon as she’d found out they had her son, the search had stopped and they’d started building up settlements. Gathering resources until she felt brave enough.

‘I dunno, I can’t give you credit for the Institute yet, we’ve still gotta blow it up.’

_We?_

Mac wasn’t sure how much longer Ash would want him as a travelling companion, especially after he’d squared his fee with her for killing Winlock and Barnes. Luckily, she didn’t look phased by the implication at all. Hell, she even looked pleased - if her small smile was anything to go by.

‘Speaking of which,’ She sat up once more, spine straightening with resolve. He’d seen her do this countless times when she was about to say something serious. ‘I was thinking of starting out towards Somerville Place tomorrow, and on from there… To find Virgil.’

Mac put his beer down. Finally, they were making a move on the Institute scientist hidden in the Glowing Sea. Truthfully, MacCready had been waiting for this conversation since the moment they’d left Memory Den, all those months ago when she’d finally blown the secrets clean out of Kellogg’s head. At the time, he’d been preparing to re-negotiate his fee – The Glowing Sea was known for being a radioactive crater full of mutants, after all– but now… now he’d go as a friend.

‘You returned the caps I hired you with, so you’re a free agent. I don’t expect you to - ’

‘I’m coming with.’

He picked up his beer again, but then thought better of it, already anticipating the mild hangover waiting for him tomorrow. If he was walking into hell with her, he should at least be able to shoot straight. Mac fixed his gaze on the muddy floor while trying not to notice her shaky inhale. Had she really been expecting him to bow out?

‘Mac, I’m not forcing you to do this. I couldn’t…’

‘You couldn’t do it without me, I know.’ He cut her off, eager to finalise a plan before she started talk of payback.

‘Hey, it’ll be no different to usual, right? You point, I shoot. You ask questions, I stand around menacingly with my gun.’

The idea of returning to Goodneighbour while she walked through the _literal Valley of Death_ was not one he could stomach. Ash inspired a protective instinct in just about everyone. She was the kind of person the Commonwealth would need around to fix the damage and patch the leaks. It sounded corny as hell, but he believed it. He’d seen her resurrect the Minutemen and wipe out Kellogg, and there was definitely more to come.

Ash said nothing, only meeting his gaze with a look so warm and heartfelt, anyone would think he’d just returned her kid.

Christ, this was why people found her so endearing. No one else in the Commonwealth wore their heart on their sleeve as much as Ash. With a stranger, it’d be exploitable weakness, but with her it was refreshing.

Lips parted in surprise, eyes wide with emotion – he’d seen this look before, and it was the kind of look he had leaned into once, and kissed away the awe with affirmation. Lucy had given him countless tender looks like hers, usually after some small gesture he’d made.

God. Thinking of Lucy still knocked the air from his lungs, but the fact that he mattered again to _someone_ made the numb void of loneliness shrink back. Mac felt lighter around her, which had to count for something. Glue, the Glowing Sea, he'd take on whatever she asked if it kept her looking at him that way, and that honestly scared the shit out of him.

‘I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to this.’ Her voice was softer, and entirely disarming. Time to ruin the moment before he got too sappy.

‘Don’t thank me, just tell me you have some gear we can use that’ll keep us from growing a second head, because I don’t think I can handle listening to two of you.’ Her vulnerable look vanished at his playful grumble, and as she began reaching for her sleeping bag, she tapped the side of her nose.

‘I got a little something up my sleeve, but you’ll have to wait and see.’

 

***

                                                                                                                      

Diamond City Market was just hitting the afternoon lull when the radio at Takahashi’s stand carried Travis’ news item of the day over the hubbub of oblivious shoppers.

_‘The Minutemen are making waves in the Commonwealth, folks, and that’s good news for all of us. The latest word is that they’ve taken The Castle, an old hold out of theirs from back in the day.’_

A lone Diamond City guard sat at the noodle stand reading a paper on his break, and turned his head just a fraction, as if he’d simply moved onto reading the next page. It was the only indication he’d heard anything over the hawking and haggling around him. The dark shades he wore made it hard to guess whether his attention had even left the Publick Occurrences in his hand.  

_‘From everything I’ve heard, it was no small feat to get that back under their control. There are some real monsters out there in the Commonwealth, folks.’_

That seemed to bring a ghost of a smile to the guard’s lips before vanishing behind his bowl as he drank down the dregs of his noodles.

_‘Now that they’ve set up shop, I’m told the Minutemen will be in a better position to help whoever in the Commonwealth might need them. That’s good to hear, don’tcha think?’_

The guard rose from the stool, leaving the paper and his payment behind. No one noticed him leave through the gates, just a routine patrol, and nothing was said when he nodded to Danny at the entrance check point. No one noticed the guard duck into a darkened doorway away from the Green Jewel’s walls and turn into someone else. No one ever did, and that’s what he was counting on.

 

                                                                                                                                                                       


	2. Metal & Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘I still can’t believe that even an irradiated bomb crater has squatters. Two hundred years on, and can’t anyone build a house? Hell, the church would have been more fitting.’ 
> 
> ‘Yeah, you think they’d at least have a gift shop.’

 

‘Dammit…’ Mac stumbled, again, over his own metal-clad feet. On his hands and knees once more, crawling was starting to look preferable to clunking and stumbling the whole way.

‘Heel, toe, remember? Like you’re walking in heels.’ Ash sounded robotic and muffled through two layers of helmets. She’d turned back around, her power armour gleaming in the sun as she waited for him to right himself. Despite the helpful intentions, it only pissed him off.

‘I’d take a fu-fricking pair of them right now over this tin can.’ He grunted and heaved himself very noisily to his feet and started walking. He could just about hear her giggles, imagining him stalking angrily through the Glowing Sea in high heels, no doubt.

Mac was almost regretting even coming. The whole armoured frame was ridiculously heavy, cramped, and the straps chafed at his thighs. They’d stopped overnight at Somerville, giving him some recovery time, but now he was stiff and full of aches. Although he’d never admit it because she’d warned him against it, wearing his duster under the hazmat suit had been A Bad Idea, because he’d never sweat so much in his life. Salty beads rolled down his forehead before catching in his lashes.  He felt like a molerat trapped in a cooking pot.

 _Plus, the icing on the cake? It’s got fuckin’ bright red flames on it_ , he seethed to himself. Although it was his first – and definitely last - time in power armour, it was also the least stealthy he’d ever been on a job, and that included with the shit-for-brains Gunners.

Judging from Ash’s clear strides, this wasn’t her first rodeo so just to add insult to injury, she was constantly waiting for him. If he wasn’t so riled up, he’d wonder when the hell she’d gotten the practice with the suit.

‘Trust me, it’ll all be worth it when we’re knee deep in whatever the hell lives in _that_.’ She thumbed a gauntleted hand at the rumbling green haze ahead of them. The suit would help him last longer than a few seconds against a Deathclaw, but running away or manoeuvring around anything was now completely off the cards, and in case she hadn’t noticed, sneaky sniper was his forte.

‘Duke recommended we find the Children of Atom first to ask around about Virgil, and wherever they are is guaranteed rads.’

‘Whatever. One more fall and I’m ditching it.’ He muttered, also hating that his voice probably sounded as stupid as hers did within the suit. He could imagine her pout clearly behind her helmet.

‘After Zeke graciously loaned them to us, I think not.’

Right, the leader of the try-hard Tunnel Snake wannabes. Zeke had done a lot of hair-combing and posturing when she’d rocked up at their garage with him in tow.  He’d made a point to laugh especially hard when Mac tried to exit the garage and kissed the concrete, threatening something about scuffing paintwork. Mac eventually caught up to Ash, falling in line beside her as best as the bulky arms allowed.

‘How the heck did you get in with those guys? And what’s with the “Jack”?’

MacCready wasn’t usually this talkative, but he wanted to direct his anger away from the suit and think about anything other than scratching every itch on his overheating body.

‘Oh, the Cats? Found them when I was taking care of the Eddie Winter tapes for Nick. Long story, lotsa detective work. Completely unpaid so you’d probably hate it.’ She was really working at getting him to laugh.

‘Anyway, came across their garage, and they said I could join the Atom Cats if I helped them with supplies and repairs for Warwick Homestead.  So I’m sure you’d be shocked to hear I did that, and helped the Cats fight off Gunners that came for their power armour.’

Nope, he wasn’t surprised in the least. Woman had a bleeding heart big enough for the both of them.

‘Jack’s just a nickname they give me. It was used a fair bit by Greasers in my time.’

 _My time…_ Mac always struggled imagining Ash belonging to an era before the bombs when she was so proficiently adapted to their wasteland world. She was observant by nature, a careful shot, and able to handle anything with her power armour. It looked like she’d worn it a thousand times. She even knew how to rebalance the heavy instep, something he couldn’t ever get right, and she never rolled out her joints like he did just to get the pieces to sit right on the frame.

Her shielded head turned to his, clearly noticing he’d been staring through the silence – the scope of vision in the damned suits was uncomfortably blinkered.

‘Your thoughts?’

MacCready was glad then for the cover the suit afforded him, it made him brave enough to ask what would normally rattle around in his brain for weeks.

‘Nah, ah… Well, I was just wondering how you’re so comfortable wearing these things.’ 

They picked their way over cracked scabs of tarmac, the road and most other markers of civilisation were well and truly ruined this close to the blast site.

‘Soldiers’ spouses always knew what their partners worked with.’ Her voice sounded so far away that he turned just to check she was still beside him.

‘We knew what maintenance oils needed buying, how long it took to recalibrate the nerve sensors, probably even how much they weighed in the damn things. I’d visited the hangar enough times to comfortably get into his set without help. Could kick Nate’s ass in one, too. They let us mess about like that sometimes when they weren’t posted anywhere. When they were home.’

This was the only time her otherness outweighed all her other qualities. He could only ever picture her from that far-off time when she spoke of it with her wistful softness. She’d lovingly render every detail in her recollections, bringing a dead world to life for herself as much as for him.

There she was in his mind’s eye, pressed dress and heels, green eyes framed with coloured powder – just like the magazines - waltzing comfortably up to her man in uniform. Her soldier.

 _Her soldier,_ _Lucy had called him_.

When Mac went to speak, his voice broke over the words.

‘Wher… where did he serve?’ 

‘Anchorage…’

Well shit. The Front Line.

‘Nate was there from start to finish. Went through three of these older T suit models.’ Ash thudded a metal fist against the T60 chest piece, discussing her dead husband’s war record with convincing ease, if not for the waver in her voice.

‘To be honest, it’s nice to know there’s still some T suits walking about.’

Mac pressed on, feeling totally humbled and a little ashamed. Her husband – a goddamn war hero - had worn countless sets of the heavy armour suits into war and fought his way out the other side, while Mac couldn’t even get out of his without help.

_And I’ve been complaining this whole time._

It was a miracle she’d not laughed at him, or worse. How noble he’d felt, accompanying her into the Sea like he was doing her a favour, and now all he could think about was her comparing every fall of his to how tall her Nate had stood, how his broad shoulders had filled out the frame underneath.

Mac could recall the brawny look of her husband from the awful memory lounger footage of Kellogg’s memories. He hadn’t meant to pry in watching over Amari’s shoulder, but the intrigue and mystery surrounding his boss had, at the time, been all too tempting.

As hard as it was to acknowledge Ash belonged to a world from before his grandparents were born, it was just as difficult to accept that the veteran of Anchorage was the same man shot dead in a glorified freezer, scared and pleading for his infant son.

It hadn’t been comfortable to watch then, and it certainly didn’t feel right now that he was here with Ash in his place. It should have been Nate in the armour beside her, following her into the Sea.

 _But it’s not. I’m all she has out here._ Mac’s gauntlets creaked around the grip of his rifle. _I’m no war hero, but I’m all she’s got._

‘I’m sorry… that he’s not the one in this suit.’

He hadn’t realised he’d said it aloud till a jolt went through Ash’s suit, and for one sickening moment, Mac wondered if he’d royally fucked up. But there was no break in her stride and a second later he felt her elbow glance off his own in an affectionate nudge.

‘Don’t be. You’re here now helping me, and you have no idea how much that means.’

It was true, he had no idea how much, but he desperately wanted to know.

‘We’re gonna find the Institute, Mac. And when we do…’ her voice lowered, heavy with unspoken wrath. ‘They’ll be the ones who’re sorry.’

 

***

 

MacCready wasn’t sure how long they had walked undisturbed through the barren wastes. He trailed just behind Ash, scanning the murky green curtain surrounding them, hearing nothing but the drum-like beat of their armour on rock. They had fallen into a tense silence, thick as the deadly radioactive mists enveloping them. He was sure they’d have encountered some of the malformed wildlife by now, but nothing moved, and no thermal readings had blipped on her pip-boy.

After a few good yards, they both simultaneously stopped at the emergence of a hulking shade deep in the fog to their right. A branch of radioactive lightning arced across the sky, and its dull halo illuminated what looked like a steeple jutting out of the ground.

A church.

Ash deliberated before pointing with her thumb at herself, _cover me,_ the signal he knew all too well. Soundlessly, Mac readied his rifle, following as carefully as he could. When he was a few feet away from the steeple, he took up squat position as best he could, keeping Ash in his sights. Luckily, a button on the outer wrist-side of the glove allowed him to lock out the legs of his suit, so the armour took the full weight of the crouch, keeping him completely still.

Ash was bent low over the roof emerging from the ground, testing the structure with her foot. A guttural noise echoed up from within, sounding not at all close, and suddenly a bout of vertigo hit as Mac realised the long drop between their perch and whatever was inside.

It wasn’t the heights but what he feared lay below that had his knuckles white, gripped like a vice around his rifle. As Ash peered down a hole in the roof into the darkness below, Mac looked on, heart in his mouth as he fully expected the roof to collapse any second.

She held up both arms, outstretched and swayed them; _ferals_.

An ice cold shiver shot up his spine leaving hairs standing on end. This was the only time he ever hated being right.

The physical reaction was nothing new, and he’d got quite adept at hiding it - _breath in, breath out_ – if they stayed at long range, he could handle it.

Ash waved him over, and he was reluctant to join her, but Mac needed to assure himself that they weren’t a threat.

As expected, the fifteen or so feral ghouls were about 30 feet below them, loitering and sleeping in the pews of the gutted church. Poor bastards must have been mid choir practice when it happened, but instead of being granted instant vaporisation by their merciful God, they’d been buried like a decaying time capsule, ready to gut whatever sorry creature happened upon them.

‘Damn, I had hoped the Children of Atom would be here…’ Ash’s whisper was barely audible above the metallic rumbling of the rad storm above them. Religious zealots… house of worship. It made sense.

‘Yeah, but that would be making things too easy for us.’ Mac scoffed. ‘They’ll be at the crater I bet.’

‘That’s what I was hoping we could avoid.’

Ash sighed, and rose from her crouch, eager to put the church and its inhabitants behind her.

Smart move, to leave them be. They didn’t need gunfire drawing out anything bigger.

Skirting around the church, they heading further south-west, and no sooner had they started walking, that Ash spotted another ominous shape in the green haze.

They approached in usual formation, Mac covering the rear as she headed in first, her heavily-modded assault rifle in hand. The jagged silhouettes soon became a more recognisably morbid scene of a vertibird crash. There were no visible bodies or remains, but the aircraft had split in two on impact. He was no genius, but Mac judged the visible scorch marks on the ground as more recent than the bombs.

Bending down to inspect an intact crate, Ash called him over.

‘Ammo here.’

 Mac joined her in scavving what he could fit into the belt-bags at his waist, but paused once he spotted the circular symbol stamped on the lid of the box. Three gears and a sword.

‘Aw jeez. The Brotherhood of Steel.’ He pointed the symbol out to her. ‘These guys were everywhere back in Capitol. Power armour mad, and will sure as hell shoot you if you’re -’

‘A Ghoul, mutant, or synth?’ She finished for him, seemingly unfazed about that revelation.

‘I met a Paladin back at Cambridge Police station.’ She explained whilst stacking rifle rounds into her pack. ‘He’s the biggest stick in the mud I’ve met this side of defrosting, and you’re right about their ideology. I was with Hancock at the time.’

Mac winced in understanding, then remembered she couldn’t see his face.

‘I take it that went well.’

‘Our good Mayor took it in his stride, and Paladin Danse learnt to…accommodate the way I do things. Had to really, as I helped him out big time with some long range transmitter his team needed.’

Mac privately rolled his eyes. Trust her to help even those assholes.

With the site cleared out of all they could carry, Ash lead them onward, towards the beacon of glowing green light in the distance. The closer they got to the glow, Mac could feel a gradient building under their feet as his calves protested the incline. Maybe there had been hills here before, or the force of the bombs had reshaped it beyond all recognition.

He followed closely behind Ash as she picked her way carefully around the edge of a bubbling pit of radioactive waste, climbing ever further up the edges of what Mac hoped was the crater. All around them dead tree trunks jutted out the ground at angles, and he used them for leverage up the slopes.

Ash’s pip-boy was a continuous blur of ticks now, but he didn’t need a Geiger counter to know that some serious radiation lay ahead. Fingers crossed, they hadn’t felt any rad sickness so far, but nothing would protect them indefinitely from the crater’s fallout. They’d been careful with the suits underneath the armour. He just had to hope it was enough.

As they travelled, the two of them picked off a pack of molerats and wandering ghouls from a distance, and he loved how deadly they were as a long range team. Nothing ever saw the bullets coming, and the fog almost acted as a silencer of its own, distorting and muffling their fire.

A path emerged between jagged cliffs that brought them face to face with more angry molerats, snarling and spitting their displeasure at being disturbed. Mac had finished picking off the furthest targets when an adolescent radscorpion burst forth from the ground; clearly mad to have lost its live prey.

‘We got a scorpio!’

Ash called it, a little redundantly, but together they tagged it in seconds, leaving its exoskeleton a punctured mess.

‘Alright! We might as well clear out the whole sea while we’re at it.’ Mac crowed, adrenaline still coursing strong in his veins. This had to be why people harped on about teamwork so much. When you made it work, things got _done_.

 

***

 

Mac was beginning to wish they’d made good on his suggestion to clear out the Glowing Sea, because he’d had enough of the cooky Children of Atom.

As a way to ingratiate herself to the zealots, Ash had made the mistake of asking about Atom.

Mac had zoned out at all the ‘infinite worlds, waiting for division’ bullshit. He’d encountered their kind before, and there was no way to shake them from a would-be conversion till you introduced them to the barrel of a gun.

The radiation of the crater was stifling, baking him inside the thick metal suit, and Mac had a headache blossoming that he prayed was not rad-related. He scanned their surroundings for possible exits, in case Ash’s little chat went south, but there wasn’t much of note. A trashed metal shelter and a few other junk huts in the middle of a cesspool of radioactive waste. He wondered wryly if she was doing the same, perhaps seeing a fixer-upper settlement for her Minutemen cause.

It was Ash’s mention of Virgil that reined in his attention once more.

‘In truth, this Virgil has caused us some concern. Some believe his presence is an affront to Atom.’

Mother Isolde was clearly one of those who believed so, the woman’s grimace adding to her dishevelled, unhinged appearance.

‘Though he came to trade with us on a few occasions, we have had little other contact with him. It was quite clear he wanted to be left alone. You can find him south west of the crater, living in a cave. I would approach cautiously if I were you. I feel he does not want visitors.’

As a defected Institute scientist, Mac could imagine very clearly the bald, scarred visitor Virgil was probably expecting, and was he looking forward to bringing up Kellogg’s status, should they need any additional bargaining clout.

Mother Isolde helped mark an approximate location on Ash’s pip-boy, from which the geiger rang a terrible monotone plea to _‘get the hell away from here’._

Ash approached him, thankfully done speaking to Isolde.

‘Hang in there, Hot-Shot. It’s just a short walk from here and then we’ve got him.’ As much as hearing that nickname lifted his spirits, he still couldn’t contain the forceful sigh that escaped him.

A direction to head in was still a victory, for sure, but the chafing on his legs had definitely broken skin, and his feet throbbed in protest of any more walking. He didn’t say a word about any of it, though. Not when she was probably in similar spirits.

 _Not when Nate would have carried her there himself_ , he thought.

‘God, I could kill for a drink.’ He mourned, before adding roguishly. ‘Come to think of it, I have.’

Ash laughed, and it was so at odds with her barren surroundings, his head spun.

He almost wanted to ask, _‘hey, did you ever think you’d laugh at a shitty joke here of all places? How do you do it? We're laughing in the crater where your world ended.’_

Ashlinn O’Connor was an impossible woman, but she kept things interesting.

There was no point in sticking around when they couldn’t make camp, and in a few hours it’d be dark, so they agreed to head out once more.

The thought of being in the open at night always set off a trigger of anxiety in Mac, the rifle in his hands the only totem against the growing darkness. The instinct to hunker down was a relic of his time at Little Lamplight, but it had seen him through so far.

The steep path back out of the crater took the wind out of him; even Ash had to stop for breath at the top, and when she turned to look back at the impressive outlook over the Crater of Atom, he allowed her the moment of peace.

He had a feeling that behind her impassive helmet, there would be unfathomable emotions in those bottle green eyes of hers.

Mac would be lying if he said he wasn’t somewhat moved by the desolate landscape. The way the earth had been churned up and leeched of all life... it was hard to imagine anything close to trees and grass ever having existed. It wasn’t quite abandoned kids’ playground level of sadness for him, but it was close.

They’d walked on in silence for some time till Ash spoke up.

‘I still can’t believe that even an irradiated bomb crater has squatters. Two hundred years on, and can’t anyone build a house? Hell, the church would have been more fitting.’   

Mac shifted the sniper rifle in his hands, not sure how much of a sombre mood she was in.

‘Yeah, you think they’d at least have a gift shop.’

She groaned at his lazy humour, her reflective train of thought now lost.

It hadn’t occurred to Mac how he was now a member of a handful of people who’d been to ground zero, and lived to complain about it.

He’d only become a ‘what if’ man after Lucy, but seeing the crater had left an impression.

If the bombs hadn’t fallen, he’d probably have been taught in school about men like Ash’s husband. Mac would have sulked his way through history class, probably forced to go to remembrance parades for soldiers like Nate, and Ash… she’d have been long dead. Maybe her son’s however-many-greats grandchild would have been a classmate.

Jeez, talk about an unnecessary sobering.

Rocks and debris scuttling to the left of his field of vision quickly made them both freeze. Nothing else moved but the dust and rocky sand pouring out from the hillside until the prominent tips of two horns sent Mac into panic mode.

A Deathclaw, the most deadly and territorial of all the commonwealth’s creatures, and they’d just woken one up.

It hadn’t spotted them yet and was lazily closing and opening its eyes, yawning through the dust with jaws strong enough to crush their armoured limbs.   

Without taking his eyes off the lethal creature, Mac delicately pointed to the bags at Ash’s waist.

‘Heavy duty?’ The lowest whisper he could manage was still enough for her to hear, and she immediately understood the hidden message: _‘Please tell me you have some grenades or we’re both dead.’_

Beside him, Ash lowered her rifle whilst slowly pulling two pulse grenades from her scav bags. The clinking of the cannisters caused the hidden Deathclaw to give a worrying shudder and a growl as it displaced more sand.

Only seconds before Ash pulled the pin hoop of the first pulse grenade, she spoke.

‘Over the hill, go.’

Both pins dropped, the noise drew the attention of the mound under the earth as the two grenades sailed through the green haze, one landing at the Deathclaw’s feet, and the other embedding itself in the dirt above its head.

Mac didn’t stick around to see the detonations, but he was thrown forward by shockwave that surged through the unsteady ground. He heard the deafening roars of pain. With any luck they’d blown its face off, or blinded it at the very least.

Mac charged up the hill, breathing heavy with exertion as he forced his knees to his chest, powering him up the slope till he breached the top. He could see nothing through the dust and fog. Rocky shrapnel rained down on his armour like a tin roof in the rain.

Fight or flight had a sickening hold on him, urging him to carry on running till he collapsed, but Ash’s absence suddenly dawned on him.

 _Where the fuck is she? Oh shit please don’t still be down there, please, please_ … Mac spun around, churning up dust. He gasped for breath, trying to calm the growing panic but the helmet wasn’t getting enough air through the filters.

_Think. Go look. You have to find her._

She’d reached the top first, but had she carried on running or slipped backwards down the sandy slope?

Without hesitation, he strode as close to the edge as he dared and sighted his scope, darting a practised eye through the confusion.

‘Ash?!’

His worry only grew when there was still no sign of her, but the moment a heavily bloodied Deathclaw snout filled his vision, he fired off three consecutive shots.

Every thrash and cry of the dying deathclaw confirmed his latest armour piercing mod had certainly been worth the caps. The creature collapsed heavily on its side, its legs spasming wildly before falling slack, jaw hanging wide in a mimic of its earlier yawn.

There was nothing but his own pulse and panting breaths, but under his feet he felt quickening shudders of the earth. He whirled around in a full circle to see her bulky power armoured form running straight at him through the smoke.

‘MAC, MOVE!’

Her scream was drowned out by the earth exploding under his feet.

Weightlessness followed for a blissful moment - gunfire started up but sounded so far away – before he crashed back down to earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little delayed because real-life dealt me a shit hand this month.  
> Listened to Metal & Dust by London Grammar to get me through this. 
> 
> Any feedback, as always, will be appreciated and lovingly received.


	3. Breadcrumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Listen Dee, I kept an eye on your Wanderer as best I could, but I suggest you get up to HQ ASAP. Things are gonna get busy.’  
> Busy. Their code word for Institute-related ops.
> 
> Deacon cocked his head, not at all liking that Johnny of all people, was nervous. 
> 
> ‘How busy are we talkin’ here?’

 

**‘Ine…sendaf temi… try toprey…’**

Sounds were the first thing a returning consciousness processed. Mac’s memory knew from plenty of hangovers and lost bar fights, but he didn’t think it’d been either of those that left him this woozy. He tried to frown, to pry open his eyes, but movement was impossible.

He focused instead on making the sounds he was hearing take recognisable form.

 **‘…So you. You killed him, eh? Then what do you want with me?’** The sounds were now a voice, an incredibly deep voice. It was hard to gage distance in his current state, but Mac was sure the voice was coming from another room.

 _They said something about killing,_ he thought foggily, adrenaline not quite available to him yet.

_They haven’t done a good job if I’m still alive._

Mac was suddenly grateful that his body was still slack and useless.

_Playing dead it is._

‘I know you were part of it, and you escaped.’

_Ash._

In that moment, her voice was the best thing he’d ever heard in his life.

If his body weren’t so deflated, he would have jumped to his feet in a second.

_She’s alive. We’re alive._

_How am I alive? And why was I flying?_

‘The Institute…They sent Kellogg to kill you.’

Ash’s voice had brought a wave of calm over him, and feeling more assured, Mac zoned out of the conversation. His mind flickering over the facts as it took its time processing each concept. If she was talking about Kellogg, that meant… they’d found the scientist. They’d done it.

The ground exploding. Shooting the Deathclaw. Climbing the cliff. It was as if he’d rewound a holotape in his head.

_She must’ve dragged my useless ass the rest of the way to the cave._

He managed a feeble sigh, and a sharp jolt of pain closed around his ribcage – definitely bruised at the very least.  Eyes flying open in alarm, Mac instantly regretted it as he met the full beam of a rotating spotlight.

‘Ahh, oww...’ Mac shielded his dazzled eyes with his hands, and his fingertips traced a course bandage wrapped around his head. He looked up cautiously, expecting to be in a dank wet cave from his Little Lamplight days, but was met with glittering sandstone.

From where he lay, Mac couldn’t see Ash, or the scientist, but standing vacant against the opposite wall of the cave were their power suits.

His was the most damaged, with huge tracks of claw marks and trauma sites on the legs and arms. Hers wasn’t pristine either and the left shoulder had an actual chunk missing from it. Before panic set it, he stopped his worry in its tracks.

_At least I know she’s alive. If she’s talking, she’s fine._

Mac hadn’t expected to be out of the T suit; they were still technically in the Glowing Sea after all, so he trusted Ash must have dosed him in rad drugs.

Being unsuited, and the bandage; it suddenly dawned on Mac that Ash had stripped him to check for injuries.

_Oh._

Delicately, he felt around his abdomen, noting the hazmat, duster, and outer vest had all been removed.

He’d need to sit up to confirm the pants situation, but all that visibly remained on him was a white sweat-stained shirt. As he furtively lifted it, a waft of acrid menthol filled the air as the material peeled away from damp skin.

Some kind of med-X gel? Whatever it was, it was strong stuff, because the angry bruises he spied were giving only a minimal ache.

_Just tell me she didn’t treat the cuts on my thighs…_

Mac swallowed before slowly letting his hand slip under the blanket and down his stomach till he found a waistband, but not the thicker khaki-coloured pants he’d been hoping for.

He collapsed back against the malformed pillow he now recognised as his folded clothes, utterly horrified.

In the few months he’d been travelling with Ash, he’d made a point to attend his own minor injuries, and sleep off the rest. Mac knew how to field dress wounds well enough. But he also knew his own body, knew all the jutting angles and long limbs that made him look so fucking _juvenile_.

But his biggest source of shame? The state of his underwear.

 _More holes than a ghoul’s face,_ he thought morbidly, and after days of sweaty travel, they were probably not the freshest of undies.

Face burning, MacCready squirmed uncomfortably at the idea of being unconscious and exposed before Ash, of all people.

He sighed, more carefully this time.

_Ash wouldn’t give a damn. Of course she wouldn’t._

They’d always joked about the distinct lack of washer/dryers now when compared to her day – road travel and all its gritty elements had long stopped bothering her. As for his body, she had probably been more concerned with keeping him alive.

But still…being that vulnerable, needing her to help, to strip him and tend to him… It was too intimate after a year of nothing. No familiar touching, no close quarters. The only notable body contact he’d had with anyone but family had been from money changing hands and robbing dead bodies.

 _I got knocked out by a damn Deathclaw, and I’m more worried about being seen with my pants down_ , he thought wryly.

Damaged pride and a few bruises he could take. Looking once more at his severely damaged T suit, he supposed he might even thank Zeke. _Might_. 

‘…I’m trying to find my son. The Institute kidnapped him.’ 

Mac stilled at the echoing of Ash’s conversation with Virgil carrying down the corridor.

‘ **Oh. Oh no. I had no idea. I’m sorry.** ’

 _What the fuck?_  

Virgil’s voice was deep and brutish, not at all what he’d expected the scientist to sound like. Now he was properly awake, Mac swore Virgil sounded like Strong.

Together, he and Ash’d rescued Rex and the aptly named Strong from the other Super Mutants in Trinity Tower, and, of course, Ash had bagged herself a new travelling companion.

Not even Super Mutants were spared her friendship, so if Virgil really was mutated from his time in the Glowing Sea, Ash would have taken it in her stride.

In fact, she seemed to already have the scientist spilling his guts over the Institute’s history of abductions.

Good. All she had to do was keep him talking.

 **‘I can help,’** the hefty voice declared, **‘But… I’m going to need something in return.’**

_Goddammit._

**‘Before I had to escape, I was working on a serum that would serve as a cure for my… condition. It’s still in my lab, and… Well, look at me. I need it.’**

Despite fuming over yet _another_ sorry asshole making a request of her, Mac was still bitterly curious to see Virgil’s condition for himself.

**‘I need you to find it for me, if you manage to get inside the Institute. What do you say?’**

Mac didn’t even need to strain his ear for her reply. He knew she would accept any and all fetch-quests if it gave her a shot at the Institute. If it eventually gave her Shaun.

‘You help me, and I’ll help you,’ was her amicable reply.

‘Although, I’ll need more information than just the plans. I’ll need maps. If I need to get into your lab, ideally I don’t wanna be seen.’

There was a small huff of what Mac could only assume was amusement, even if it sounded more like a grunt.

**‘Alright, let’s talk details.**

 

***

 

It was some time later that Ash called out his nickname, pulling Mac out of fitful doze.

The pain meds had begun to wear off, and attempting sleep had been his only respite.

‘Hey, Hot-Shot!’

He gently pushed up onto his elbows, giving his best attempt at a smile through the dull ache in his ribs.

Ash was positively beaming. As much as his ego wanted to, he wasn’t going to take all the credit for her sparkling eyes. They’d got what they came for, of course she was thrilled.

Regardless, he could get used to taking an ass-kicking if this was how she’d greet him.

Eyeing the food tray she carried with her, Mac felt an odd kind of warmth at the idea of her bringing him breakfast in bed.

‘Room service, eh?’ The plate of grilled steak had him practically drooling.

‘Don’t get used to it, _Robbie_. Gourmet Deathclaw’s the main course, the starter’s your meds.’

The emphasis on his name – God, why had he ever relented and told her? – was not encouraging a restful heart-rate.

‘Great. I could do with some more Med-X, Boss.’ He scratched his head, sleepily mussing up his hair.

‘Well I just happen to have something better.’

She flopped down cross-legged beside him, picking up a silver paste tube from beside the plate. The neat white label read _Mendax_.

‘Virgil swiped it from the Institute when he escaped. It works like a charm, and you can have some, if you stop calling me boss.’ She held the tube just out of his reach.

In truth, the boss title was a reflex from his merc dealings, not at all related to her use of his first name. He forgot they’re on equal footing now. Or would be, if she’d just stop saving him.

‘Deal. Now gimme.’ He stretched once more for the Mendax tube but Ash held it above her head.

‘I got to check your bandages first.’

Mac froze at the word _bandages_ , and he knows she noticed because her face softens, like she’s about to start assuring him and it sets off all kinds of alarms in his head.

Unconscious was one thing, awake was another thing entirely.

‘I checked, they’re fine.’ He lied easily, still holding his hand out for the medicine.

‘ _Mac,_ ’

‘Now I’m awake, I’ll do it myself, Ash. Just give it-’

‘I need to know you’re okay!’ She blurted out and it cut off his irritation.

Now she’s the one who can’t meet his eyes.

‘I need to check, to see that everything is fine. When the Deathclaw… You had internal bleeding, Mac. All our stimpaks couldn’t work fast enough…’

‘What?!’ Mac choked, more concerned with how fast her good mood had deteriorated. She couldn’t be right.

‘Ash, look at me. I’m fine. Little bruised, but fine. I’ve had nights on the bottle way worse.’

‘No…’

She shook her head, hands idling with the frayed edges of his blanket.

‘You nearly died. You were practically dead when we got here. I didn’t think you’d ever wake up once you closed your eyes.’

Mac blinked back his shock. He couldn't remember any of it past falling from the sky.

It hurt to hear the pain in her voice when she thought she’d lost him, but at the same time, he took note of the unsettling selfish delight that had cropped up in his mind. She cared. About him.

It was hardly a shock for travelling partners to care about losing each other, but the more he thought about it, their bond felt like a string was tied between them. To cut it, would be like cutting real flesh… he hadn’t felt that strongly about anyone in years.  

‘I knew you didn’t have long so I, uh, took the Psychobuff to get here in time.’ Ash grimaced, probably remembering the uncontrollable rage and heady power of the drug.

‘And Virgil - poor guy - once I’d calmed down, he gave me this to use. God. I was so drugged up I nearly killed him on sight…’

Ash’s head rested in her hands, and not even thinking, MacCready reached out to rub her arm. There was a strong instinct to pull her closer to assure her but the injuries wouldn’t allow it.

For whatever personal reason, using drugs even in combat had always made Ash very uncomfortable. Not a fan of them himself, he’d never asked why and never fought the ‘emergencies only’ rule on their chem supply.

But she’d taken some - one of the nastier drugs, too - just to try and save him. Not many people would cross their own principles for anyone else’s benefit, and it made his head spin.

He owed her so much, even more than before, and judging from her skittishness, she actually blamed herself for what happened to him.

‘ _It’s my fault for making you feel obligated to come’_ , is doubtless what she’d say. It was stupid, not really a valid reason for blame or guilt. Not like his own heavy remorse.

He’d been bleeding out internally. So close to leaving Duncan fatherless.

_Oh God, Duncan, my baby boy._

MacCready gasped as that terrible reality settled in his bones. An aching grew inside him, not from injury but from the empty circle of his arms where his child should be.

_What I wouldn’t give to hold him now._

Ashlinn carried the same pain, he knew. In the first few months it had been the restless, constant searching and crazed actions, just like he’d been when he’d first set out looking for a cure. Now, it was just rocking herself in the quiet moments of her watches, when she thought he was asleep.

But there was another kind of guilt battling with relief in the darker corner of his mind, the grief he wondered if she also shared: he mourned just how close he’d come to joining Lucy.

He was glad that Ash still hid her face because he wasn’t sure he could keep his heartache hidden now, forcing his eyes shut to stop the tears from coming.

His little boy had almost lost all the family he had left, and no one would have known to tell him. Ash wouldn’t have known he’d left a son behind.

His attention snapped back to the woman before him as she straightened, her green eyes watery, bottom lip thoroughly bitten in anxiety. He didn’t hide away from her, knowing and not caring that his tears were also on show.

 _I’ll tell her._ He resolved, his grip on her shoulder pushing deeper in response.

_Not now, but I’ll tell her I need to leave as soon as we’re done with this. I can’t make Duncan wait any longer._

Their quiet moment was promptly shattered by Virgil’s call:

‘ **There’s more steak for those that want** ,’

Ash snorted in amusement, and shouted back her thanks. When she addressed Mac, it was like she’d already shook off the bleak mood.

‘Just before you spring your gun, I should warn you now. Virgil, he’s a super mutant.’

MacCready nodded to himself. Back to business.

He withdrew his hand from Ash’s arm.

‘Figured as much. At first, I thought Strong had finally picked up a dictionary.’

She gave him an open mouthed grin, almost disbelieving of his wit before she laughed in time with him.

‘You mean to read and not as a projectile? Yeah, Virgil’s a real walking-talking contradiction. Could still smash your head in, but will tell you the most practical way to do it.’

_There she is._

Mac felt his whole body lighten at her growing good humour. This was what they shared with nobody else, what bound him to her beyond caps. She made him feel alive – kept him literally alive – and laughing, when everything else got too much.

Ash seemed moved by the very fact he was alive and cracking jokes, because she almost looked teary-eyed. Like she’d never expected to ever see him laugh again.

‘Sorry, I’m a bit of wreck emotionally now I’ve finally got a path to Shaun.’ She chuckled, tapping her pip-boy where the plans were stored.

‘No need for excuses for tears, I’d cry too if I never heard this voice again.’ He teased, with a shameless grin.

Ash looked surprised for a fleeting second before her brows furrowed and she stopped herself from swatting him, settling instead for ruffling his hair.

‘And to think I was worried about you.’

‘Hmm, let’s worry instead about how we’re gonna kill that Courser.’ Mac quirked a brow to let her know he was joking about needing an immediate plan. He’d overheard the specifics, but he was most concerned about how to get the job done, Merc 101. How in the hell were they going to kill a Courser?

Her delicate brows furrowed, clearly thinking about something she wasn’t ready to voice.

‘We’ll heal you up first. Shouldn’t take long at all considering how fast it’s done its magic so far.’ She handed over the magical Institute gel. ‘Then we’ll head back to the Castle, recover, resupply, and go bag us a Terminator.’

She’d already explained that comic reference to Institute synths once before, but her amusement soon tapered off into a groan.

‘Killing a courser, that’s not what scares me, if you can believe it… But I’m getting ahead of myself there.’

 _Shaun._ Mac knew when the wistful, yearning look crossed her eyes. _She’s talking about meeting Shaun._

They’d all thought it had been months when it was really years. It meant mother and son really would be meeting for the first time all over again.

When Mac had left Duncan, he could still lift the toddler comfortably with one hand. He felt a flicker of that same fear: Would Duncan even recognise him as his father?

_They grow up so fast…_

‘Let’s take it one step at a time.’

 

***

 

‘You wrecked the suiiits!’

‘Zeke, I can buff it out,’

‘The shoulder’s near clean off! Stacked it! You slide tackle all the way there or somethin’?’

‘We got spares in the back.’

The fact that Zeke was more wound up than Rowdy, the actual full-time mechanic, was of no surprise to anyone. He’s a natural theatrical, Ash had said in warning when they’d discussed how to break the news about the suits.

_Well ain’t that the truth._

Luckily, Ash had plenty of charisma for the both of them. Her Atom Cats jacket also didn’t hurt their chances.

‘Zeke, my man.’ She clapped a hand around his shoulders, steering him away from the suits, and Mac.

‘I know this blows, but you shoulda seen the Deathclaw and his pal. They didn’t walk away so hot either. All the way to the Glowing Sea and back, and they held up mighty fine, just like you said.’

Zeke seemed to consider this while he lit up a cigarette.

Rowdy had already started disassembling the armour plates from the frames, eager to get to work on the offending evidence.

The most quiet of all the Cats, a dark stormy-faced man they called Johnny D, spoke up at the mention of the Glowing Sea.

‘Did you find Atom’s Kids okay?’ 

Johnny had a commanding gaze, but a very calm, relaxed voice. Mac thought he carried himself like some of the ex-enclave and military men he’d met before. Head up, straight-backed, and meticulously groomed facial hair – although being meticulously groomed was like the second item on the agenda for an Atom Cat.

‘Yup, it was no sweat, and we found what we were looking for. A trail anyway.’ She gave a conspiratorial grin to Zeke.

‘No foolin’,’ His exclamation was muffled by the cigarette but his interest was clear. Ash had known some good news and a few compliments would have him back on board.

‘You really gonna serve some justice to those Institute pales?’  She’d told them they were looking for evidence of the Institute’s plans. Not quite a lie.

‘Yup. That’s the word from the bird herself. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you in the loop.’ Ash obviously loved indulging these guys.

Zeke exhaled fumes. His eyes were obscured by shades, but his head turned between Ash and the workshop, before settling on Johnny D. Something was clearly decided in that moment, because Zeke offered his smoke to Ash by way of an ‘apology accepted’.

‘Well when you rip the lid off those snatchers, you gotta show them it’s goodnight and goodbye from the Cats. You can have the fresh suits, just make sure you wear ‘em when you make those assholes pay.’

Ash flicked the dead-end off the cigarette before taking a drag, bumping her shoulder against Zeke’s as she handed it back, speaking on the exhale.

‘You’re a real doll, Zeke.’

Not that MacCready cared, but she had to know how devastatingly attractive she made smoking look. A deliberate tease. It wasn’t for him, but had his face flushing all the same.

‘Yeah, yeah Jack, tell me something I don’t know. Now youse better be burning rubber to make the Castle by sundown.’

Zeke pointed a thumb at Johnny D.

‘JD’s got a chariot ready for ya, just load up the suits when they’re set.’

Ash nodded to MacCready, his sign to follow.

‘Thanks again, Zeke, see ya guys. Love to big Duke when he gets back from his travels.’

Fitted in their new gear, the armoured trio boarded a boat moored behind the back of the garage. They both stowed their helmets to make the most of the refreshing sea breeze. He was glad to have his cap back, but Ash had been less than pleased to see him wearing it.

It felt like home, pulling it down over his hair to cover his eyes.

Rowdy had actually taken the effort to strap his frame correctly this time, and Mac was feeling surprisingly relaxed for someone in a heavy metal suit, travelling over open water in a questionably refurbished fishing boat.

Funny how a brush with death can make everything much more tolerable.

Mac was happily silent while Ash and Johnny struck up passing conversation, and truthfully he’d intended to zone out the entire trip to avoid the sea-sick churning of his stomach, till the Atom Cat had begun prying about their Glowing Sea experience.

‘Overall, it was standard procedure for us, really. Got the job done, in and out with no trouble.’ Ash sent a cheeky wink Mac’s way. They were both seated on the deck facing one another to balance the ship, and Johnny stood at the helm in the small roofed cabin.

‘I dunno, Jack. That armour was torn up pretty bad.’

Johnny’s remark was still easily heard over the purring engine. What he’d said was pretty ordinary, but it was everything the man _didn’t_ say that made you pay attention.

‘And you two still made it out of the Sea with all your parts.’ He mused further, not once looking up from the waves.

Mac shared a direct look with Ash, and he trusted her to take point on this conversation. Things tended to run smoother when she did the talking.

‘You saying we don’t look like a solid bet? I don’t like to toot my own horn, but as a team, me and my partner here are pretty damn good.’

Mac would ordinarily preen at a compliment from her, just when it wasn’t used as a deflection.

‘Not many people walk away from fights with gear that trashed. I have no idea how you survived without help.’

Mac could tell she also didn’t know what to make of his line of questioning.

‘Well, who knows if God was involved? I didn’t personally hear any heralding of angels.’

Mac snorted at that.

Johnny had always been the most aloof, the odd cat out of the bunch who never made much chatter, so why he chose to start now was anyone’s guess.

To his credit, the Cat didn’t miss a beat.

‘I’m just a little in awe, is all.’ He turned his dark gaze to Mac. ‘Not many suits end up like yours and still have a live driver.’

Ash embraced her relief at Mac’s survival and smiled, unable to see Johnny’s sweeping gaze that passed over Mac.

‘Yeah, it was close.’ A mischievous tilt warped her smile; a tell that only Mac knew to look for.

‘Luckily there was Institute tech just lying around out there. Let’s hope the Courser’s won’t miss it.’

Johnny’s spine stiffened as he adjusted his grip on the helm’s wheel, a detail none of the pair missed.

Mac bristled at the discreet change in response to the lie. The Institute was _the_ trigger word for a lot of folk, but there was no denying the man’s suspicious demeanour. Ash had clocked it, and had fed him the lie as a tester. Mac sent up silent prayers of thanks for what must have been the hundredth time so far that the woman he was travelling with had smarts. 

It never hurt to be cautious. After all, there was no telling who was a synth replacement nowadays.

 ‘Coursers? You two really are for real…’

Mac watched as Johnny’s brows knitted together, and his mouth formed a grim line. He sighed, his armour creaking as he steered.

‘Well, any Institute gear you guys _may_ find, you _might_ wanna take it with you if you’re ever on the Freedom Trail. Just a suggestion.’

Mac shared the confusion that spread across Ash’s face, but any in depth questions were cut off as the boat began to pull up alongside the small beach that surrounded the Minuteman HQ.

‘The Freedom Trail, huh. I’ll bear that in mind.’ Ash grabbed her pack and helmet with Mac hurriedly doing the same before jumping onto dry land.

‘Thanks for the lift, JD.’

‘You take care now, and remember, it was just a suggestion.’ There was a bare hint of a smile as Johnny D leaned over the edge of the boat and extended his hand to Ash in a farewell shake. She firmly returned the gesture, before stepping back out of the shallows to watch the boat manoeuvre a turn before powering away.

On the path outside of the Castle’s south-facing gates, a small welcome party had started to gather. Mac was sure he could spot Preston, he’d know that Stetson anywhere.

‘What’d you make of that?’ Ash asked him, voice deliberately lowered in response to the nearing Minutemen. ‘The Freedom Trail used to be a history walk in my time. Reckon he’s being cryptic?’

Mac kept his practiced eye on the retreating fishing vessel. He thought back to the rumours that blew about Goodneighbour from time to time, whispers of unknown visitors and coded messages on the Freedom Trail.

‘I dunno, but I never much liked puzzles. Not enough prizes.’

 

***

 

‘Johnny’s not here, Andy,’ Came an unfriendly voice of Rowdy from deep within the workshop half of the Red Rocket.

She’d never thought much of his planted alias of Aimin’ Andy, but the woman was smart enough not to push against Zeke (and Johnny’s) wishes for everyone to ‘be cool’.

She hadn’t even spared a second glance when he’d leaned against the door frame, and chose to continue hammering out the dents from a smashed up armour plate.

‘Not here? And after I got all dressed up.’ Deacon swept a hand down his body, indicating his commitment to the look.

Torn denim, pompadour wig, and a plain greaser jacket. With the ever-present shades, he could pass for Zeke’s older, better looking brother.

When she didn’t respond, he was forced to push further. ‘Any idea where I could find him?’

Deacon made sure to take his time on each word, dragging it out just a little longer than she could stand. Rowdy was as blunt as a spoon with those she didn’t like, and was not a fan of his brand of humour.

Irritation was a card he only used when he felt comfortably in control. With just the right amount of pressure at the right time, annoyance could force someone to reveal far more than flattery ever could. With Rowdy, flattery had you dodging spanners.

_Speaking of which…_

Rowdy spun around from her work bench and pointed the mallet in her hand at him. He almost thought to duck.

‘JD took New Jack and Co. back home. Zeke’s on the beach waiting for him.’ After shooting him another scathing look, she added, ‘I suggest you wait with him.’

He waved goodbye as he left, regardless of whether she’d see, and strolled as fast as he could without losing his unruffled facade.

Aimin’ Andy was truly a cover under cover, but still had to appear to be every bit as cool a cat as Deacon himself.

 _A crying shame having to pretend with these guys_ , he mused to himself. He secretly respected their love for the old ways, and the retro revival gang struck a chord with his interests in pre-war lifestyle, so it wasn’t entirely an act whenever Andy made an appearance.  

Only Johnny D knew the agent under the guise. As a pseudo-tourist, Zeke appreciated the need-to-know basis of Railroad ops, and was surprisingly smart about keeping his nose out of things and his ear to the ground. But as far as the other Cats knew, Andy was a mostly absentee member who’d gone into hiding. Outstanding gambling debts to the Gunners had been the official story, though to the rest of the ‘Wealth, Aimin’ Andy was long dead.

Deacon frowned to himself.

No one could have predicted actual Gunners would turn up at the garage a few years later to raid their suits, and understandably, Rowdy had blamed Andy for selling them out.

It had been a learning curve for crafting all his recent covers, but damn, if he didn’t know how to scrape a good excuse together by now, Deacon would never have lasted this long in the field.

Sand crunched under foot as he approached his bad body double smoking at the water’s edge.

‘If you’re here to meet Jack, you just missed her.’ 

_Ah. Jack._

He was dying to meet Project Wanderer, but he was a firm believer in timing being the crucial element in play.

_Let her come to us._

‘Nah, here for Johnny, as always.’

A distant whining of an engine became steadily louder over the ambience of the waves. Dusk had well and truly settled, but Deacon could just about see the modest fishing boat powering towards them.

_Is that… a badly painted cat’s face on the side? God I love these guys._

‘That’s JD. Well I’ll leave you to it, Andy.’ Zeke turned to slap a friendly hand on Deacon’s shoulder, but the younger man grimaced as he did so.

‘Jeez, it’s like lookin’ in a mirror.’

Deacon grinned.

‘I know. Good hair, right?’

‘Wrong! If anyone mistakes you for me, I’ll shoot em myself!’ Zeke strut off over the dunes toward the garage.

‘Catch you later, pal.’

It was always pleasant bumping into Zeke, although when both parties wore shades, it was like staring into an infinity mirror from an old carnival house.

Deacon waited with hands in his pockets, as Johnny D began mooring the boat.

‘You got a Geiger counter for me, Johnny?’

The much older man did a double take at the sight of him.

‘Deacon,’ the surprise lasted just a second. ‘Mine’s in the shop. You still haven’t changed your face.’

There was a lot more behind Johnny’s remark, but he wasn’t here to get a grilling on disguises from his ex-boss.

‘Mmmhmm, I mean why change when I can run up tabs as Zeke.’

Johnny hauled himself beach-side, staring down at him from his great height. He’d always been tall, well over six feet even discounting the armour, but the man’s serious expression had only deepened over the years.

‘I was expecting you near a week ago.’

_Before Wanderer waded into the Glowing Sea, and before HQ’s shit hit the fan losing three packages._

‘Yeaaah, about that…’

He’d never disclose anything major – a friendly breach was still a breach – but as an ex Railroad agent, he knew Johnny would understand.

‘Things have been getting kinda hairy. You should see my schedule.’

Deacon watched with growing hesitation as his old teacher shifted his weight, dark eyes scanning the garage before returning back to Deacon’s shades. 

‘Listen Dee, I kept an eye on your Wanderer as best I could, but I suggest you get up to HQ ASAP. Things are gonna get busy.’

 _Busy_. Their code word for Institute-related ops.

Deacon cocked his head, not at all liking that Johnny of all people, was nervous. He lowered his voice right down to a gravelly whisper.

‘How busy are we talkin’ here?’

Johnny paused, his steely gaze breaking for only a moment, and Deacon knew then that it was big.

‘Couldn’t get the whole story, but Coursers were mentioned. Miss Jack is smart enough not to trust me. I get the feeling it was just wildlife they tangoed with in the Sea, but I’m confident they found something Institute-related.’

Deacon crossed his arms without realising, his mind chasing down every possible outcome.

From Amari’s intel, he’d discovered there was an escaped Institute scientist somewhere in the sea. Either Wanderer had made contact, which was an outcome with a million other implications to consider, or they’d arrived too late and met with Coursers. He was no P.A.M. but so far he’d been right about predicting Wanderer as his biggest babysitting gig yet. 

‘I gotta tell you Deacon, I had to breadcrumb about the Freedom Trail. She may be heading there tomorrow _if she has anything she might want decoding_. I figured you could have someone make contact.’

It was a fine idea in theory, but Deacon knew it still wasn’t time. He needed to see how this played out, and what choices she would make now that things were heating up. Nothing could be in doubt when it came to Railroad loyalties, when/or if ever she made good on his other prediction. Again, he was no P.A.M. but he had good feelings about Wanderer.

‘Okay, I hear you. Got a tape for me?’

Johnny passed him a holotape from his gloved hand.

‘Recorded from the moment she arrived, as requested.’

Comprehensive as ever.

_What Dez wouldn’t give to have you back on deck good and proper…_

Deacon quickly stowed the recording. He now had a long walk ahead of him when he’d been expecting a night’s catch up, but it was less of a bummer when he considered the juicy news now nestled in his secret jacket pocket.

‘Well, I better skedaddle if I wanna be in the right place at the right time.’

‘Indeed.’ Johnny sighed. Clearly relieved to be free of Railroad duties once more.

‘It’s been good to see you again, son.’

‘Good enough that you’ll give me a lift out Castle way?’

He reeeeeally didn’t wanna walk past University Point if he could help it.

‘Not that good.’ Johnny deadpanned. ‘But you can borrow a row boat. Much more discreet.’

The old man had never made things easy for him, but there was no arguing the paddles were much quieter than the larger boat’s engine.

‘Deal.’ Deacon walked over to the modest rowboat embedded in the sand.

‘But only if you paint a cat-face on it for me.’


	4. Courser Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Courser’s head tilted back as he examined Ash. 
> 
> ‘You’ve been tracking me. What do you really want?’ 
> 
> She paused, the cogs turning as she considered the weapon in her hands. 
> 
> ‘Does Z2-47 mean anything to you?’

It was a universally accepted fact within the Railroad, that if Deacon had to run anywhere, things weren’t going according to plan.

There weren’t many ways to run stealthily, so he stuck to the shadows and ruins of buildings. Stealth Boys were for absolute necessities.

Sneaking past the entrance to the Mass Fusion building, Deacon edged himself into cover under a partially collapsed bus shelter, and waited.

Nothing moved at all except the windblown trash, and patrols from nearby Goodneighbour always made themselves scarce in the wake of a shoot-out.

He’d caught wind of the gunfire as far back as Mass Bay Medical Centre, and had been playing catch up all day since Wanderer’d snuck out of Goodneighbour at dusk.

Another miscalculation.

He’d bet money on her going to see Amari but nah, she’d gone and impressed him. Not many people could give the Railroad Spy master the slip.

Deacon reloaded his rifle, giving one last check before leaving cover for the nearby alley behind the barricades.

In the middle of Gunner territory, it would usually be a blessing to breeze through, but the bodies and .308 shells littered about told him he was still lagging too far behind.

_I’m not where I need to be, better keep hauling ass…_

He could only imagine the snippy remarks he’d get from Carrington for this screw up. Oh, and what would the doctor make of the flat-out sprint he was working to maintain pace as he darted between streets.  Deacon’s last physical had been a half-ass measure for sure, but that’d had been the point. If he did his damn job, he wouldn’t have to cross-country the Commonwealth.

‘Heart rate… Pffft, high. Blood pressure, Trinity Tower high.’ Deacon mumbled to himself between breaths, not bothering to check his pulse when he could feel and hear every beat pounding through his body.

_In my defence, I’m keeping pace with a woman 12 years younger. Aaaand, she had a head-start._

Weaving his way toward the bridge, Deacon paused at the open gate to the crossing. Back against the wall and exhaling hard, he shimmied up to the doorway, and peeked through once.

There were two bodies – definitely Gunners – at the midpoint of the bridge, so clear for now. But it was the wide open space between him and the other side that had Deacon buzzing with nervous energy.

No shadows, and no cover, save the wig on his head.

Crossing the bridge meant jumping the line from Gunner Goons into Serious Shit.

Greentech and beyond had always been a hub of Institute activity that he tried to avoid when running ops, and judging by her hired Sniper’s shells sparkling on the concrete, Wanderer had definitely crossed that line.

A trip into the wolf’s den couldn’t be helped. And hell, HQ could do with more recent data from the danger zone.

Crouching low and sticking to the right side of the bridge’s railings, Deacon pushed on, activating his first stealth boy of the trip.

As he passed the two bodies on the bridge, he noted the tousled clothing and open packs – classic Wanderer and her magpie Merc.

Up ahead lay only the smoking remains of a turret, also clearly stripped for parts, and Raider corpses. There were no tracks to follow, but he’d been watching this pair for months and knew what to look for where others wouldn’t. Wanderer and MacCready had taken a right past the hanging Blast Radius sign, and headed straight for Greentech.

Even covered by Tinker Tom’s new and improved Stealth boy cloak, Deacon still didn’t let up the pace. Besides, he had plenty of spares.

Just as he approached the steps to Greentech Genetics, he spotted the railsign ‘X’ for danger to the left of the doors, seconds before he felt the earth judder from explosions rattling from within.

_Wanderer, puleeease tell me you brought your power armour._

***

_‘What’s going on down there? How many are we dealing with?’_

The male voice on the tannoy was just about audible over the sound of gunfire and explosion blasts - _wait, are they using rocket launchers indoors?_

With the foyer cleared for him, Deacon shouldered his sniper and pulled out his custom pistol.

He’d scoped out Greentech only once before, and knew lots of tight corridors and cramped cover lay ahead. He dutifully checked the magazine of his pistol and, yup, 16 rounds at the ready. Tommy Whispers had used Deliverer, and Deacon had its twin, Disciple.

Ignoring the grieving twinge from thinking about his MIA friend, Deacon picked his way through the carnage, following in the wake of his targets.

He passed through a large hall with dead trees and even more recently deceased Gunners, which gave him pause for thought.

Gunners moving into Institute territory – maybe there’d been less activity in the area in recent weeks. The firefight picked up again a few floors above him, so Deacon continued up a stairwell pocked with bullet holes. Even with an easy path ahead, he kept one finger hovering above another stealth boy switch.

Gunners he could care less about, but he wasn’t ready for Wanderer just yet.

_‘The courser’s now on the third floor…’_

Deacon didn’t catch the rest of the radio alert, as processing the shock drowned out the rest.

Steadying himself against a blood stained wall, Deacon brought a hand to his chest. Even through the ballistic weave of his simple white shirt, he could feel his heart jumping against his ribs.  

He’d been in close quarters with Coursers only twice before in his life, and both situations had been deadly Institute raids on old headquarters. Coursers meant a death sentence.  But now, there was a new variable to consider.

_Courser + Wanderer = ???_

After his mind’s temporary derailing, he began sifting through questions and troubling scenarios as he started moving once more.

What did she find in the Glowing Sea that brought her here? Was it the escaped Institute scientist? Was this a trap laid out for her?

Did Wanderer know a Courser would be here? What would she do now?

As Deacon jumped the stairs two at a time, he thought back to Wanderer’s file, the one he’d painstakingly created himself.

‘Grieving widow’ and ‘stolen child’ were the earliest observations he’d made. There was a strong chance she was here for one or both of those perfectly acceptable reasons for vengeance.

Regardless, Deacon had to know what came next, because any outcome that didn’t end with a dead Courser, meant pulling the plug on his beloved project.

Entering the upper floor, Deacon came across what looked to be red walled office cubicles. At a lull in the gunfire, Deacon moved to the far side of the room, where he stopped dead as Wanderer crossed his path.

It took a second for Deacon to remember to breathe, as she halted right in front of him.

The Stealth Boy still had a few good minutes on it, but he couldn’t bring himself to even check – it was the closest he’d been to her in a while.

_Goodneighbour, Diamond City, and Bunker Hill don’t count. Disguises are cheating._

‘Hold up a sec, Mac.’ She whispered to the moaning figure waiting in the corridor up ahead.

 _Of course she hadn’t brought the power armour, just her Cats jacket and some body armour_ , he thought wryly as he watched her twist at the waist to stow some junk - an old camera, and a pre-war magazine.

Deacon looked on as Mac spied the magazine disappearing into her pack, and an unusually fond smile broke out on his face before he quickly toned it down.

‘The Surgical Journal huh, something tells me I won’t wanna read that one after your done. Lemme know if you find any Unstoppables.’ It struck Deacon then just how young the merc probably was. He’d estimated MacCready to be mid to late twenties initially, but he knew Wanderer was twenty-eight (or 238). Either way, years had certainly lifted from him when he lost the scowl.

Ash snorted and it brought Deacon’s focus back to her. Strands of her russet brown hair that had escaped her ponytail fell into her eyes, and he observed her idly swipe them away before drawing her reclaimed Institute rifle.

He gave a mental seal of approval for the modded weapon, repainted with Atom Cat flames and a Minuteman symbol on the scope. He’d been there when she’d picked it off of a Gen 1 in Fort Hagen, and the gun was a testament to how far she’d come.

Two fleeting thoughts simultaneously crossed Deacon’s mind.

_Firstly, we’ll get a Railsign on there somewhere. Maybe for danger._

And Second, _What will the Courser think of it?_

Deacon exhaled, and the noise or maybe the movement of air from his breathing caused her to look up right at him.

Those eyes.

Green. Yep, definitely green eyes. He’d had to add that to the file now that he knew for sure.

_Ashlinn O’Connor, green eyes, a Virgo. Probably._

He watched said green eyes narrow in suspicion as they scanned the room, not able to see the shimmer of air from the Stealth Boy’s distortion, but for a moment, she’d sensed him. At one point, she’d been looking right through him.

She had what could be called an honest-looking face, delicate nose and dancing eyes, although Deacon knew better – the woman could lie almost as well as him. That Brotherhood Paladin back at the Police station had bought it all up.

Gunfire started up again from much further away, and MacCready had to go and shatter the moment.

‘Ash, we might wanna stow that junk and get moving if you wanna catch this Courser.’

Her unease with the room forgotten, she braced her rifle and joined her partner in the corridor.

‘We? I don’t see you offering to carry anything. Now let’s go say hi…’

Deacon didn’t dare follow until they’d moved on a good distance, and sure enough, Mac and Ashlinn’s gunfire soon joined the fray.

Still buzzing from the close encounter, Deacon took off after them, only after counting to 30 in his head. He remembered to pop another Stealth Boy as he proceeded up a fallen roof to the upper floor where Wanderer and MacCready were crossing a walkway, avoiding gunfire from above.

‘MacCready! You fucking traitor bastard!’

One of the Gunners must have recognised him, and Mac swore as a rain of bullets descended down upon the bridge. Deacon sprinted across after them and dove into cover.

They wasted no time in dispatching the gunners, and when they’d dropped the last one, Ash turned to Mac, one hand on his shoulder.

‘You good?’

Deacon understood what she was really saying.

He knew a fair bit about Robert Joseph MacCready. Deacon had grudgingly began updating a file for him after he became Ash’s most favoured companion. Another wanderer, from Capitol Wasteland who wrote home a lot. Excellent shot, bad manners, and even worse history with the Gunners.

The merc tensed his jaw, and swallowed before nodding once. Clearly, that had been someone he’d known from when he’d ran with these assholes.

Satisfied her wingman had his shit together, Ash lead the way once more, and Deacon kept close, lingering just around every corner.

Despite the severity of the situation, he was enjoying watching the pair. It had been too long since his last professional observation.

Mac managed to blow a Gunner’s head off and take out the one directly behind him with one bullet, and the sniper crowed with pride.

‘2 4 1.’ He gloated playfully, signing the numbers on one hand. He set up another shot as more men entered the corridor, and his sniper round just clipped the neck of a man, who panicked at the sudden exit wound and rush of blood and threw a grenade into the narrow hallway. It wasn’t close enough to worry about and just before the detonation, Deacon watched the amusement spread on Ashlinn’s face as she lined up a shot around a corner, landing a particularly difficult headshot on the Gunner MacCready had grazed.

The explosion incapacitated the rest of their enemies, and when the dust settled, Ashlinn stood, and scuffed Mac’s hat as she passed him.

‘Watch yourself Mac, getting sloppy.’

She’d definitely been practicing since he’d last seen her in action. It was hard to compare the woman before him to her first impression, the jumpy vault-suited wreck that had screamed at every radroach in Sanctuary.

‘You know me,’ Mac reloaded and gave Ash a pointed look from under his cap that only Deacon saw. ‘I’m a messy guy.’

_Waaaaait, was that… flirting? Here of all places?_

Deacon shot a look between the two before him, but nothing more was said as they pushed on further.

It was true, the merc had lost a lot of the snarky tone he’d held in the past, and no longer balked at their hands touching when exchanging ammo.

_Note to self, put MacCready down for ‘emotionally attached’…_

He hadn’t expected his Wanderer to take a shine to the likes of MacCready, especially with his Gunner past. She could have picked good Ol’ Valentine. Deacon frowned to himself, knowing there was an edge to his judgements on Mac’s past that no one else could ever possibly understand.

_If people really knew me, they’d know I’m the biggest fucking hypocrite._

As they crossed yet another walkway, gunfire began rumbling overhead, almost completely drowning out another radio message for the Gunners.

_‘Fall..back… Courser…. After girl.’_

Girl? Did they mean Ash? Damn, Deacon had hoped the constant flow of Gunners would at least tire the synth out, but no, the Courser was cutting through their men at a relentless pace, only not in their direction.

The three of them picked their way up multiple stairwells decorated with bouquets of hanging grenades, with Wanderer cutting a few loose ‘just in case’.

Deacon pushed his glasses back up his nose, his nervous tell.  An impending Courser meeting was happening whether he wanted it or not, and something about that last tannoy message told him a puzzle piece was missing. Too many damn variables. Deacon rechecked his stealth boy timer. 1 minute 50 seconds.

Their path lead to a room with a gunner ducked down behind a trip laser, which MacCready quickly dispatched (okay so maybe he was glad Ash hadn’t brought Valentine), but it was the large open stairwell beyond that proved a harder task.

Three gunners guarding the stairs clocked them, and a turret also began whirring to life.

_Shit shit shiiit!_

_***_

 

After clearing the split level room of all Gunners and turrets, Ash made the call about taking the lift.

‘It’s the only way up.’ She grimaced as the doors opened.

‘Like shooting fish in a barrel’ was the old-world phrase that came to mind, and Deacon could see MacCready shared the sentiment, narrowing his eyes in assessment of the small cover they’d have against whatever awaited them up top.

Small space meant BIG problems for Stealth Deacon. Hugging the walls would be the only hope he’d have of not getting caught out.

‘We’ll use these going up, should they be waiting.’ Ash unclipped two stealth boys from her waist, throwing one to Mac, as well as a stimpak for his bleeding shoulder.

_Perfecto. Stealth boys all round._

The three entered the lift, with Deacon careful to lay his footfalls in time with Mac’s as they entered. Luckily for him, the pair stuck to the sides, right up by the door, leaving Deacon to crouch unhidden against the back wall, his heart in his mouth. This was close quarters, he could smell the metallic tang of sweat and blood as Mac inspected a bullet graze to his shoulder, and Ash reloaded her weapons.

The lift doors closed, muffling all outside sounds of fighting.

Mindful of breathing verrrry slowly through his mouth, Deacon listened to the telling silence between the pair, only broken by Wanderer’s shaky sigh when the lift began shuddering to a stop.  Nervous, but ready.

Just before the doors opened, they both activated their stealth cloaks, and like that the lift was empty.

Despite his nerves being frayed to shit, Deacon grinned to himself. He felt a real member of their op now.

_Go Team Stealth Bunnies!_

With a friendly ding, the lift opened onto… an empty room with a control panel behind a wire mesh column. Nothing else visible but a ladder and a few blood splatters.

The lift dipped twice as Wanderer and MacCready moved to search the room. As the doors were closing Deacon ducked out himself, sticking by the doors to avoid running into them. If he did he could always blame it on the Merc.

‘Clear,’ Ash’s whisper was now from the door frame across the room. ‘Moving out.’

Deacon followed Mac’s shoe scuffing from somewhere close on his left, and they moved as one up more stairs to the top level. The gunfire had ceased.

‘I don’t know the password, I’m telling the truth!’

The cry cut through the silence from somewhere above them, and Wanderer froze mid-step.

‘I don’t believe you are.’ The Courser. Cold and calculating.

The distressed man began to beg, and it ignited something in Ash as she took off down the halls, Mac in pursuit.

A single jarring shot of an Institute rifle rang out sending Ash into a crouch as she ascended more stairs. Their stealth boys now expired, they were vulnerable to being spotted, and when the Courser next spoke, Deacon realised they were right outside the room.

‘All he had to do was tell me the password. Now, are you going to co-operate?’

More gunners started pleading for their lives, and Deacon’s mind went into overdrive. Were the Gunners hostages? What password? What would Wanderer do, now that she’d finally reached the top of the stairs and  -

She stood, cocked her weapon and strode recklessly into the room.

Ashlinn and MacCready had their weapons pointed at the Courser, but Deacon’s heart nearly stopped when the Institute killing machine turned so casually to face them. The Synth was a dark haired, fairly unremarkable looking man, but Deacon knew better. The speed, the strength, the completely inhuman regard for destroying and hunting down synths, all wrapped up in a big leather trench.

A rare flash of an emotion – surprise? - widened the Courser’s eyes as came face to face with Ashlinn’s modified Institute rifle, and he actually lowered his weapon, to Deacon’s complete disbelief.

‘Are you here for the synth?’

It took Deacon one confusing second to spot the unarmoured woman cowering in the next room behind the glass. He knew that fearful look, he’d met countless packages that had looked the same. The girl was an escaped synth.

Disciple at the ready, Deacon was prepared to do what he could for the woman, but knew Wanderer was in charge.

_It’s your call, Boss. Make the right one._

Ash’s eyes darted once to the synth locked in the room beyond, and Deacon could see her recalculating her plan of attack.  MacCready subtly shifted closer to the wall away from Ash, distinguishing himself as a second target, to divide and conquer should she give the signal.

‘Just who is this synth, anyway?’ She flicked her head to the woman, gun never leaving the Courser’s face.

‘A fugitive. Runaway Institute property. I’m shutting her down and bringing her back.’ Stone cold delivery. Property, he’d said. Like he was talking about a stolen car. The word alone made Deacon’s blood rush to his face in heated disgust.

Wanderer’s cautious demeanour shifted, her brows knotting in anger, but Deacon couldn’t have been more proud of the dazzling smile she flashed the Courser in challenge.

‘Yes. I’m here to help the synth.’

_Damn straight._

The Courser made no move, but quirked a brow, evidently unfazed.  

‘And you think I’ll just hand her over? To you?’ The Courser’s head tilted back as he examined Ash. ‘You’ve been tracking me. What do you really want?’

She paused, the cogs turning as she considered the weapon in her hands.

‘Does Z2-47 mean anything to you?’

Ash shifted her weight, clearly expecting action in response to her request.

The Courser’s eyes narrowed, and his black gloves flexed on the handle of his gun. In seconds, he’d closed the distance, and with a fistful of her jacket lifted her off her feet.

‘That is my designation. How did you- ’

MacCready couldn’t move fast enough, and Deacon felt himself aiming Disciple before he could even think about blowing his cover, but the courser’s question was drowned out by Ash’s screaming.

‘Z2-47, initialise factory reset! Authorization code zeta-5-3 kilo!’

The Courser froze, wheezed, and released her.

_A reset code._

_She’d used a…_

_Not just any, but a Courser’s..._

Deacon brought both hands to rest the back of his head, in both relief and disbelief.

_What the fuck?!_

The deadly synth slid out of Ash’s arms before collapsing. Both Mac and Ash jumped back from the leather-clad body as it hit the ground.

Seconds of silence passed, as no one except Deacon seemed to understand fully what had happened.

MacCready crept forward to jam the barrel of his rifle right against the back of the Courser’s head, testing for feints.

‘Ash?’ he flicked his eyes to her as she knelt beside him. ‘What did you do?’

‘Holy shit…’ Ashlinn murmured. ‘That son of a bitch guessed right.’

He’d find out which exact son of a bitch she was referring to, but it had to have been this Virgil from the Glowing Sea.

Deacon crept closer, brought out of his stupor by Ash’s sudden movement. His only thought in that moment was that P.A.M. had been right. Wanderer was a Rogue variable. She’s captured a Courser and saved an escaped synth without violence coming to either. He blinked, his brain processing a lot of information in that moment. How did she get a Courser Code, and what was she going to do now she’d neutralised him?

Ash seemed to be checking for a pulse, but she never said whether she felt one or not, because as she began reaching for her pack, she remembered the woman locked in the room.

 

***

 

Deacon had been torn about whether or not to secretly escort Jenny from Greentech, but knew whatever Ash was planning to do with the Courser, they had been waiting for her to leave first. He’d been grateful they’d sent the girl off with a 10mm pistol and ammo. It was more than what most would do for a known synth, and all things considered, he was so fucking proud. He couldn’t wait to tell Dez, but first – he had to see what came next.

Both Ash and MacCready knelt beside the prone Courser’s head. Ashlinn had pulled a dagger from her pack, but made no move to slit any throats.

From where he’d hidden away, Deacon could still see the conflict in his Wanderer, in the way she nibbled her lower lip. Killing something unable to fight back, it truly wasn’t her style.

 _C’mon girl, just this once. This is a Courser._ Deacon knew the Courser wouldn’t feel a thing. All railroad agents were taught the inner processes of synth chips, and how a recall code sent them into a senseless stasis, but Wanderer couldn’t know.

Mac looked between her and the dagger.

‘Do you want me to?’ His voice was low, but Deacon just about heard. _Cute, MacCready._

In response, Ash gave his leg a pat while her face set in a grim look, lips pressed hard together.

‘No, it’s cool. I got this.’

After taking a huge gulp of air, she readied her knife and began to work.

Some sickening moments later, her bloodied hands pulled a microchip from the dead Courser’s head.  

 

***

 

Deacon was almost too excited to feign sleep as he lay in the Memory lounger.

Amari’s live feed was coming in from a speaker in his pillow and it was all happening so fast.

‘The Railroad?’ Ash repeated, interest piqued, despite sounded absolutely shattered. ‘I’ve heard a few tales about them.’

‘I hope not too much,’ Amari continued. ‘They help synths escape the Institute. I don’t know who they all are. Usually, an agent of theirs just shows up with someone who needs new memories. One of them gave me a code phrase to help find them if ever there was an emergency.’

Deacon smirked to himself, loving that he was indirectly included in this conversation.

‘The code was ‘Follow the Freedom Trail’, cryptic I know.’

He could only imagine Ashlinn and Mac sharing a look over that one.

‘The Freedom Trail eh? Well I followed it once upon a time, and it seemed a little long-winded.’

‘Not to mention that all round Faneuil is crawling with greenskins.’ MacCready added.

‘So we’ll start first thing tomorrow. I’m game to play tourist.’

Tourist? Oh man, this was GOLD. Deacon chuckled to himself. She was tailor-made for their little outfit.

‘There’ll be clues along the way, hidden in plain sight. That’s how they think.’ Amari let only a slight bit of derision filter through.

She knew damn well he was in here, listening like always, hiding in plain sight.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first posting on here, so I'm very hyped to join the Fallout fic community. I have written a few chapters ahead and will hope to post more once I've edited like mad. Any feedback, as always, will be appreciated and lovingly received.


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